Fic: A Flickering Flame, Teen Wolf

[ladyoneill.livejournal.com]

Title: A Flickering Flame
Author: Lara (ladyoneill)
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Spoilers: Set in the future
Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters; if I did Peter would be a regular and would certainly not be evil.
Pairing: pre-Peter/Stiles
Warnings: Some innuendo, Stiles may or may not be underage depending on the reader's desire.
Rating: PG13
Summary: There's an antique lighter, a desire for flames (or sparks), and a growing need for family.
Picture: Zippo Heart (Color)
A/N: I took the lighter and the heart (love) and ran with it. It was supposed to be about Peter and his late mate, but Stiles butted in.




The wolf shakes itself, resolving into a man. Straightening his coat, he looks up at the slender moon then at the house across the street. In an upstairs room, the blinds are open, revealing darkness.

At midnight, golden flame illuminates the room, and the wolf inside the man howls.

*****

"That's really disturbing."

Peter glanced up to find Stiles standing across the room, staring at him in confusion. With a flick of his wrist, the lighter closed, extinguishing the flame. His other hand closed around the burn on his palm and he breathed deeply through the pain as his flesh healed.

"Shouldn't fire freak you out?"

He shrugged. "If we let our fears dominate us, we lose everything."

"So you go around setting yourself on fire."

A toothy grin just slightly past sanity crossed Peter's face. "It's a test. If I can do it, I pass."

"What, to prove you're a psycho nutcase?" Stiles sneered.

Peter didn't bother to address that truth. "Why are you here?"

"Derek wanted this book back." Stiles opened the bag on his shoulder and drew out a half-charred tome which he gently placed on a chair. "It...it must have been a great resource once."

"We had an extensive library. I had only managed to digitize about five percent of it. We've managed to recover some of the books, but most are in similar condition to that one. The rest are lost, many unique and hundreds of years old." He looked down at the lighter in his hand, running one finger over the rough surface. The names inscribed on it were illegible but he knew each one by heart. He wished he remembered the books the same way.

As Stiles took a careful steps closer, Peter sensed his curiosity and held the lighter out.

"I still don't get you playing with fire. Dude, I set you on fire."

Peter snorted. "Some day we'll talk about that, Stiles. That really hurt."

Stiles scowled at the mocking tone but finally took the lighter, avoiding touching Peter's fingers as much as possible. Immediately he realized the lighter was both old and damaged. "This was...burned?"

"It was a gift...from my mate. Our initials were engraved on it, along with those of her parents and grandparents. It was...tradition in her family."

"A lighter?" He turned it over with his fingers and began to flick it open and closed.

Peter watched the unconscious movements and felt a shiver of desire and memory go through him. His mate had done the same. "Her family collected them. That one is over a hundred years old, from silver mined in their New Mexico territory."

"She was a werewolf?"

"It was an alliance...at first." For a moment, Stiles was replaced by a memory of Marta, her blonde hair flowing, a smile on her face as she cradled her swollen stomach in one arm, her other hand holding the lighter, its silver gleaming. With a hard, dry swallow, he shook it off. "The Hale Pack was strong through its alliances until about fifteen years ago when the allied packs began to be hunted and destroyed. We weren't the first. I doubt we were the last."

"Were they peaceful, her pack?"

"Yes."

Stiles shook his head in confusion. "I don't get that. I mean, I don't get why hunters do that to peaceful people."

"...You really don't, do you? My being a werewolf doesn't scare you." He was scared by other things about Peter and that intrigued the wolf.

"Werewolves are awesome," Stiles blurted out, then flushed and dropped his eyes. Realizing he was flicking the lighter open and closed, he stopped and held it back to Peter who took it, feeling the warmth from the young man's hand on the tarnished metal.

"This was our mating gift. I found it a few weeks ago in the remains of our room. I suppose I should try to clean it up, give it to a new mate."

Stiles gaped. "You're getting married?"

His shock should have amused Peter, but the responsibility of blood was weighing heavily on him. "New alliances are needed. New cubs." Unfortunately, his current desires were leading him to a place that wouldn't produce new life.

On the other hand, there was a certain redhead with her own unique genetic twist who would make a beautiful surrogate...

Peter took two determined steps into Stiles' personal space, and the young man squawked and flailed, but didn't retreat. Smiling in pleasure, Peter placed two fingers beneath his chin and held him still. Stiles bravely--foolishly--met his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he forced out, voice strangled.

"You have your own flame, you know. It's very...alluring."

"Gah!"

Peter chuckled and let his other hand lightly grip Stiles hip for a moment, then he stepped back, releasing him.

"Derek's here."

Stiles skittered back, eyes blown wide, soft pants echoing from his damp, parted lips.

Peter watched him, head cocked, eyes intense, and murmured, "Is your father working tonight?"

Slowly Stiles nodded.

"If you want me to come to you...light a candle in your window, Stiles." Not waiting for a response, he turned away, slipping into the shadows.

Stiles bolted, dashing past Derek without a word, throwing himself into his jeep and it into gear.

He was half way home when he realized what the uncomfortable lump in the front pocket of his jeans was. At a stop light, he reached in and, with trembling fingers, pulled out the blackened lighter and stared at it. All the breath in his body choked off and he pressed his forehead to the steering wheel, desperately wondering what he was supposed to do now.

*****

The midnight hour falls, the moon a sliver in the sky, and a young man places a candle on his window sill. Hands shaking, it takes three attempts to coax a flame from the antique lighter.

He lights the wick and his heart pounds and he waits.

Close, very close, a wolf howls.

End